


'cause you were cool and I'm a fool

by abellyofjelly



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-06-03 00:29:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19452649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abellyofjelly/pseuds/abellyofjelly
Summary: And maybe it’s the sadness creeping into Matt’s eyes or maybe it’s the ugly mottled mess Charlie can clearly see on Matt’s knee, but something about the situation spurs Charlie into opening his big dumb mouth and saying, “I could help.”Matt and Sheila look over at him like they’d forgotten he was even in the room anymore.Charlie continues, “I could drive you home and walk the dogs for you. I don’t have any plans, so it wouldn’t be a big deal.”.Or the one where Charlie's been a bit lovesick for a bit too long, and he's starting to be homesick for a home he isn't sure exists.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> A NOTE ABOUT THE AU: This fic takes place in a slight AU where this postseason went very differently (my head canon for this is that we lost to CBJ in the first round.... because I can't bring myself to even think about losing to the Leafs), but that doesn't really matter. All the guys that Matt and Charlie played with at BU are completely made up because they're kind of assholes in this fic, and I didn't want to imply that about anyone real.
> 
> Thanks to all my loves who have cheered this fic on from start to finish. This absolutely wouldn't be here without y'all, and I wish I could somehow gift this to each and every one of you.
> 
> Fic title is from the song, "I Love You So" by the Walters.

Back in high school, Charlie had gotten so good at using SparkNotes that he’d almost made it through all four years without having to crack open a single book. His senior English teacher, however, had insisted on making him read, at least while physically inside her classroom. At some point, she realized that even if Charlie was genuinely enjoying a book he started in class, he’d go home and SparkNotes for the ending- it was a combination of habit and lack of time that meant no book could ever interest him enough to devote the time to finishing it.

Charlie was pretty sure that she was going to give up on the idea altogether, but she hadn’t. He’d actually groaned out loud like a 17 year old asshole when she’d put the book of poems on his desk. She’d grinned and told him there was no way he couldn’t finish a poem within the reading time. At first, he’d fought it tooth and nail, reading the words and purposefully not even attempting to understand, but two weeks in she’d started having him read poems about wars, and Charlie actually started to understand it. He wasn’t a history buff, but he liked all the good war movies, and he liked most of the messages too- brotherhood and patriotism and justice.

There was one he hadn’t been able to comprehend though, no matter how many times he’d read it. He couldn’t even remember the author or most of the poem at all anymore, but he’d heard the ending in movies and he knew it was important, and he still didn’t really get the poem, but he thought that maybe he at least understood the last few lines-

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

This is the way the world ends

Not with a bang but with a whimper

.

Some seasons end with a whimper. Not that losing is ever easy, but going out in a five game series in the first round didn’t quite have the punishing sting that other finishes could have had. Besides, it wasn’t as if it’d really been poor play on their end- the amount of end of season injuries they’d had was obscene, and almost the entire team was operating at half capacity for one reason or another. They’d heal up for a summer, and they’d come back in the fall stronger than they’d finished, and Charlie really always still believed in the magic of _next year_.

Charlie is one of the last to take himself to the trainers because nothing has been bothering him outside of the standard aches and bruises, and lots of the guys have wives and families to home to after this. So he takes his time in the shower to give the other guys a chance to be treated and get out before he heads into the med office.

Charlie’s checked out in a matter of minutes, and the trainer wants to wrap his ankle up to ensure a bit of extra stability for the night, but he’d had to run out to the extra supply closet in order to get an ace bandage. Charlie tried not to think about how many ace bandages were holding his team together at the seams if they’d run out.

Matt’s the only one left still being checked, and Charlie tries not to grimace at the shades blossoming around Matt’s knee like a horrible boquet- purples and yellows and greens all at once.

The trainer working with Matt, Charlie recognizes her as Sheila, frowns, “Well you’ve passed the concussion test for now, but you’ll have to be checked again tomorrow to ensure you’re okay. For tonight, limit the screentime please. You don’t have to do the full protocol, can sleep through the night, but even if it’s not a concussion, your brain could still use a bit of a break. As for your knee, absolutely no strenuous exercise, and honestly I’d even avoid walking too much for a bit. With the way the swelling is right now, it needs rest. Do you have someone to give you a ride home?”

Matt lets out a groan, “No, fuck, my parents are out of town this weekend. And what about my dogs? They’ll need to be walked when I get home."

"I’m sorry, Matt, but you’ll have to call someone and ask them to help with the dogs. You’re in no shape.”

Matt’s face is a painting of distress, “Fuck. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

And maybe it’s the sadness creeping into Matt’s eyes or maybe it’s the ugly mottled mess Charlie can clearly see on Matt’s knee, but something about the situation spurs Charlie into opening his big dumb mouth and saying, “I could help.”

Matt and Sheila look over at him like they’d forgotten he was even in the room anymore.

Charlie continues, “I could drive you home and walk the dogs for you. I don’t have any plans, so it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Matt starts to protest, “No, Chuck, I couldn’t ask you to do that-”

Sheila cuts him off, “That is a very sweet offer, Charlie. Matt would have to be an idiot not to take you up on it.”

She gives Matt a pointed look, and he seems to relent, “Okay, I mean, you really really don’t have to, but yeah, that’d be great.”

Sheila pats Matt’s thigh, “Okay, now that we’ve got that all sorted, we need to get you into the ice bath.”

In the twenty minutes it takes Sheila to get Matt in and out of the ice bath and ready to go, Charlie’s trainer manages to find an extra ace bandage and wrap Charlie up. Matt looks pretty miserable, but Charlie isn’t sure if its the game or not being able to drive or just because his painkillers hadn’t kicked in yet. Charlie cranks the heat in the car, has been through enough ice baths to know the desperation to get warm afterwards.

Charlie knows the way to Matt’s condo, and despite Matt’s complaints, he hops out of the car and goes around to the passenger side to help Matt out of the car and eventually up the elevator to his place. When Matt puts the key in the lock, Charlie can hear the bounds of the dogs to the door and doesn’t even think before putting his hand on Matt’s back in order to steady him for the inevitable impact.

Millie and Buyck don’t disappoint, launching themselves at their dad the second the door is opened. Charlie tries not to scream as Matt gets down on the ground to pet them like there isn’t any reason in the world he shouldn’t be on his knees right now.

“Matt, fuck,” he manages.

Matt looks up at him, a defiant glint in his eye, “I’m fine to pet my fucking dogs, Charlie.”

Charlie lets out a breath through his nostrils but walks away from the situation, heads to the rack hanging near the door where the leashes and doggie bags are and pulls them down. He hands one of them to Matt, still on the floor, who leashes up Buyck while Charlie handles Millie. When both dogs are ready to go out, Charlie extends a hand to Matt who looks for a second like he might refuse before he grabs it and stands up. Both of them pretend not to notice how difficult it is for him, and Charlie heads out the door with the dogs.

If Millie and Buyck mind that someone besides Matt is taking them for their walk, they don’t show it. Charlie wonders who takes care of them when they have roadies- if Matt pays one of his neighbors, or maybe he has a friend do it, someone with a key to his place and access into his life in a way that Charlie doesn’t have. It’s silly for Charlie to be jealous of the mystery person who takes care of Matt’s dogs when Charlie is with Matt whenever Matt’s away, couldn’t take care of them even if Matt wanted him to, but Charlie’s always been a bit silly when it came to Matt anyways.

.

_Friday’s game is a win, but it’s a close, well fought for win. Leaving the locker room, Charlie catches Matt’s eye, and Matt shoots him a grin from where he’s wrapped up in a conversation with a few of the other seniors on the team, and Charlie can feels his cheeks heat as he smiles back, hopes that Matt’ll chalk the pink up to being leftover from the game or the hot shower he’d gotten out of a minute ago. It’s not Charlie’s fault that he has a bit of a crush on his captain- Matt is so kind and funny and a great captain and a really great player and he’s fucking hot, okay? Charlie’s pretty sure he’d have to be blind and deaf to not have a thing for Matt._

_“Charlie boy,” Gage had said from Matt’s side, calling him over,_

_“Whatsit?”_

_“Cappy here can’t stop talking about what a good game you’d had,” Gage says, elbowing Matt who rolls his eyes._

_Charlie doesn’t know what to say, manages a, “Yeah?”_

_Matt answers this time, looking at Charlie with that smile again, “Yeah man, fucking ace.”_

_And it’s not like Charlie’s never been complimented for his playing before, even Coach had told him good job at the end of the game tonight, but it’s_ Matt _this time. So Charlie just smiles back, knows he probably looks dopey, but if he does the guys let it slide. He walks back to his dorm that night feeling like he’s walking on air, and he falls asleep thinking about Matt’s smile._

_._

Matt hadn’t specified where he normally took the dogs on their walk, but Charlie doesn’t much feel like venturing outside of the neighborhood, can’t think of anything worse than running into someone that would recognize him right now, so he takes them for a few laps around the block until Millie just stops walking entirely. He ends up scooping her up in his arms to carry her the rest of the way back to Matt’s while Buyck trots along beside them.

The door’s unlocked for him, and he heads inside. His ankle feels a bit stiff, not bad, but a warning to him that he needs to get off it soon. Matt’s on the couch, and Buyck goes over to him. Matt looks over at Charlie, and then down at where Millie’s still cradled in his arms and his face breaks out into a smile. It’s been years now, that Matt’s been smiling at him, and Charlie hates himself for the way his cheeks still heat up every time.

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger then, Chucky?” Matt teases.

Charlie sets Millie gently down on the floor, “I just didn’t know how much to walk them. I suppose I might have went a bit overboard.”

Matt keeps smiling, entirely too happy a grin for after getting knocked out of the playoffs, so Charlie feels assured that the pain medication has finally kicked in.

“Why don’t we get you to bed, hm?” Charlie asks, already moving over to help Matt up, wrapping Matt’s arm across his own shoulder in order to take all the pressure off his knee he can.

“Don’t need help,” Matt protests, but it’s weak, so Charlie doesn’t even bother arguing, just helps him down the hallway and gets him into a sitting position on the bed.

Matt shucks off his shirt and then, more slowly, his sweatpants, leaving himself in a pair of black briefs, and Charlie might never be used to Matt’s smile, but Matt’s body is still familiar from years of sharing the locker room. Besides, Charlie can’t really focus on any other part of his body other than his knee, the bruising colors even stronger now.

“How are you planning on getting to your appointment tomorrow?” Charlie asks.

“I’m fine to drive. You heard her, I didn’t test positive for a concussion, she was just being overcautious.”

Charlie doubts that, but luckily he has a trump card, “Yeah well, even if that’s true, it doesn’t make your car any less at the stadium.”

Matt’s face falls with realization.

“It’s no worries, I’ll get you there,” Charlie says, not even realizing he was planning on offering until it’s out there already.

“You don’t have to like, wait on me,” Matt says, sounding tired and a bit sad around the edges, “I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not that big of a deal, man. I can crash in the guest room though, yeah? It’s pretty late.”

Matt nods once, almost more like he’s assuring himself than Charlie, “Sure, ’ts yours. Night.”

“Night,” Charlie says, and leaves the room.

He doesn’t look back to make sure Matt got under the covers alright even though he wants to. He knows where Matt’s guest room is in theory, but he’d never stayed the night before, few excuses to when you lived in the same city. But Charlie’s fucking tired, the game finally catching up to him, and he falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. The sheets smell like Matt’s detergent which smells like Matt, and Charlie ignores the way he likes that.

.

When he wakes up, he can hear the sounds of Matt in the kitchen. Hoping for coffee, he pulls back on yesterday’s sweats, but ignores the shirt covered in dog fur.

Matt is at the stove in the kitchen with a glass bowl of batter beside him. His hair is wet like he’d taken a shower, and Charlie lets himself picture for just a moment a very different morning- one where they’d woken up together, showered together, exchanged lazy kisses together, and Charlie’d sat on the counter while Matt mixed the batter together and Charlie stole spoonfuls of it.

The moment passes, and Charlie asks, “Pancakes?”

Matt looks back over his shoulder, “I dunno if people who slept in get pancakes.”

Charlie pouts, “Not fair, I didn’t know there was a wake up time.”

Matt screws his face up like he’s considering that, “Hmmm, I guess I’ll let it pass this time.”

They eat sitting at Matt’s island. Matt made a lot of batter which is fortunate because Charlie knows he eats a lot, and normally he would feel embarrassed about it maybe or guilty when Matt has to go back to the pan to cook up the rest of the batter for Charlie, but Matt looks so happy to do it, wearing an expression that Charlie can’t quite place as one he’s seen before on Matt, but he knows he likes.

The dogs are bouncing around their feet as they eat, and Charlie heads out with them for a walk after breakfast. He’d had to borrow a shirt from Matt, and there’d been a struggle for a minute as Matt had looked for a shirt big enough to fit Charlie, and he’d ended up finding one that had to be oversized for Matt, but still clung to Charlie shoulders and rode up his stomach a bit too much to really be an appropriate fit. It smelled like Matt’s detergent too though, and Charlie had liked that. He stays around the block again, but he knows their limits a bit better, so both Millie and Buyck are able to walk back into the apartment with Charlie this time.

It’s nearly 10 by the time Charlie makes it back, and Matt is waiting kind of impatiently by the door, a shadow on his face that wasn’t there before. Charlie has to fight the urge to ask whether it’s him that put it there or Matt’s knee. Matt doesn’t even look at him in the elevator on the way down, and Charlie hyper focuses on the way that Matt is beating his fingers against his thigh, an impossibly fast rhythm communicating his discontent. The mood is tense in the car, and Charlie wonders how they can go from laughing over pancakes to this in less than an hour.

They get to the doctor’s office, Matt goes in, and Charlie waits in the car. He feels like he’s felt with Matt for years- two steps behind, too young or too dumb or too _something_ to keep up.

.

_The whole team is at a party, and Charlie has been nursing the same beer all night. Last time he’d gotten drunk around the team, he’d spent the night following Matt around like a puppy and hated himself in the morning for it. Some people on the team already teased him for his over-eagerness when it came to Matt, but Matt seemed to still be oblivious to Charlie’s big dumb crush, and Charlie wanted to keep it that way as long as possible._

_Now though, it’s Matt with a pink tint on his face and a mirthful glint in his eye that approaches where Charlie’s sitting on the edge of a couch. The other seniors had been intent on getting Matt drunk, saying he no longer had an injury excuse, and that even captains had to have some off hours. Matt had protested at first, but not really, and Charlie had tried not to blatantly watch as Matt slipped from sober to tipsy to wherever he was at now._

_Matt sits down beside him on the couch, thigh against thigh, “Chucky, you look all alone.”_

_“”m good. Was just talking to Josh a minute ago, but he left to get another drink.”_

_Matt laughs at that, like it’s so funny, and then he’s raising one hand to draw a lazy circle on Charlie’s cheek. Charlie tenses, feels the heat rising in his body at Matt’s gentle touch._

_“Matt?”_

_“It’s the fucking cheeks, man. You’re all fucking cheeks, ya know it?” Matt says, still in that laughy tone, and Charlie feels a bit sick._

_“‘m not fat, Matt,” he says, hates when people talk about his weight like it’s a problem, he’s a college athlete for fucks sake, it’s not for lack of trying that there’s still some fat hanging on._

_“Nooo,” Matt says, stopping the circling and patting Charlie’s cheek once with that same hand before pulling it away, “it’s cute, is all.”_

_“What?” Charlie asks, but Matt has already gotten up from his seat on the couch, seems to be looking back over to where Andy and Gage are._

_“You just don’t get it, Chucky,” Matt laughs one last time.._

_And Charlie supposes that he didn’t get it, didn’t know what Matt meant or what to do with the word cute or the way the circles he’d drawn felt like a brand, and Charlie goes home after finishing his beer. Matt doesn’t act any different towards him at the next practice, and Charlie wonders if he even remembers the interaction at all when it was all Charlie had thought about since it happened, would probably continue to be all he thinks about for weeks to come. Yeah, Charlie really didn’t get it._

_._

Matt comes back to the car after his appointment with a smug look on his face, “No concussion. I told you,” he says, fastening his seatbelt.

“That’s good,” Charlie says, putting the car into drive and pulling out, “and your knee?”

Matt makes a face, “Nothing’s that bad with it. No surgeries or braces or anything, just rest and they taught me how to wrap it if it starts to ache.”

They talk about the beauty of ace bandages and something dumb Brad had chirped at Torey on twitter, and it’s like whatever tension there’d been on the way to the office has melted away. Charlie is grateful, figures he can chalk it up to Matt being anxious now. When they get back to Matt’s condo, the awkward feeling creeps back. He doesn’t know the protocol now, anymore, whether or not he should keep the car running and drive away, act like it doesn’t bother him that he might not see Matt again for months.

Matt slides out of the car, says, “Let’s order Thai for lunch,” like he doesn’t know a hint of Charlie’s internal struggle, doesn’t probably, and Charlie follows Matt inside the house.

They order Thai for lunch, entirely too much, and play xbox for a few hours until they get hungry again and polish off the leftover Thai for dinner. Charlie takes Millie and Buyck for their evening walk, planning on heading out when he gets back, but Matt has pulled a toothbrush and extra towel for him out of the closet. The painkillers make Matt tired, send him to bed early, but Charlie stays up late wondering when he’d been invited to stay the night again.

But, starting at the toothbrush in his hands, it was clear that he was welcome, and it really wasn’t like he had somewhere else to go. One more night at Matt’s place before he spent the summer missing his friends and not reaching out- too far from the people in New York, too detached from the people from BU, and the rest of the team all had wives and girlfriends and families with whom they were happy to spend the offseason.

Millie pads into the guest room for pets, and Charlie considers maybe getting a dog. Then he wouldn’t be so lonely at least. Maybe then he’d have an excuse to ask Matt who takes care of his dogs when he’s gone because Charlie still wants to know. It’s one item on an endless list of things he wants to know about Matt, things he’ll probably never get answers to either.

.

The sun is just barely poking its way through the curtains, so Charlie knows it’s early when he wakes up. His phone confirms that it hasn’t even hit 7 yet, and normally Charlie would stay in bed, but he feels more restless than tired. Matt had dug around until he’d managed to find some clothes one of his older brothers had left at his place, so Charlie has shorts to change into now and a shirt that isn’t threatening to cut off his circulation.

Millie and Buyck seem confused when Charlie puts their leashes on them this early, but they are happy as soon as they hit the street. Charlie ventures further out past Matt’s neighborhood this time, walking a half dozen blocks one way before circling back. He’s spent a few years in Boston now, but sometimes it all still feels so surreal. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to how busy it was even this time in the morning. It felt fast-paced, almost like Matt in that way. Something Charlie loved but couldn’t get used to, couldn’t understand or align himself with.

The dogs flop on the rug when they get back, tired and happy, and Charlie kind of likes knowing that he’d done a good job. They’d liked exploring out a little more, had stopped to smell a dozen different things, and Charlie wished he could really take them out to somewhere more natural because he was sure they’d love it. However, despite this being the fourth walk he’d taken them on, they still weren’t his dogs. He did that sometimes, got attached quicker than he should.

He should make breakfast because Matt had made it yesterday, but he burns anything that isn’t cereal, and he doesn’t really want to wake Matt up to the sound of the smoke detector. So once the dogs are settled, he jogs back out the door, heads to a bagel shop on the next block that he’d seen during the walk and gets enough everything bagels and cream cheese to hopefully make up for his lack of cooking ability. This was what the first few weeks of the off season were about, anyways- absolutely demolishing any sense of a meal plan.

Matt is sitting on the floor in the living room, Millie and Buyck crawling over him when Charlie gets back.

“Did you already take them for a walk?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, we went and explored a bit. I got bagels if you’re hungry.”

Matt smiles, “You’re the best, man.”

They each grab a couple of bagels, slathering on an inappropriate amount of cream cheese and Matt says, “You really don’t have to keep walking them. There’s a girl who lives in the apartment below that has a dog, and I pay her to walk them sometimes.”

Charlie, grateful his mouth is full so that he doesn’t have to respond right away, thinks briefly about the girl downstairs and getting unexpected answers, “Nah, I like it. Might run home and get some clothes though.”

“Okay, thanks. Hopefully, it should only be a few more days anyways.”

Charlie knows he could definitely walk Matt’s dogs without staying at his place, and he knows Matt knows that too, but if Matt’s okay with ignoring that fact, he can too. And he wants Matt’s knee to heal, he does, but he also cringes at the thought of the expiration date on how long this can last.

After bagels, Charlie goes home for the first time since the game. His apartment is empty and quiet, and Charlie thinks again about needing a dog, so there’d at least be some noise around the place. He grabs a duffel bag and packs enough clothes for a week, then reconsiders and takes out half of them, then puts them back in. It wouldn’t hurt anything to have too much. He grabs his own toothbrush and his cologne, but Matt hadn’t seemed to mind him bumming off the rest of his toiletries, and Charlie had liked the way Matt’s soap and conditioner smelled, so he leaves all that at home.

Before he heads back to Matt’s, he turns to his apartment and murmurs a soft, “Goodbye, see you soon,” not knowing who he’s talking to, but feeling the need to anyways.

.

Matt has ESPN on when Charlie gets back, seems to be listening intently as they discuss the Celtics chances in the playoffs. Charlie drops his duffle off in the guest room before settling in on the opposite end of the sofa. Millie and Buyck were both settled on Matt’s chest, but Buyck goes over to Charlie to place his paws gently on his thigh while Charlie scratches behind his ears.

Matt doesn’t look away from the television, says, “You might want to walk them early tonight, I think it might rain.”

“Yeah? The forecast say something?”

“Nah, it’s- you know how old people do that thing where they say they can tell when the weather is about to change?” Matt asks.

“Uh, yeah?”

“I get that too. It’s the pressure changes or whatever, and I can feel it in my joints, I can feel it in my knee and it hurts,” Matt says, rolling his leg around like he’s trying to relieve whatever ache he’s feeling.

Charlie bites down around the urge to reach over and rub his leg for him. When the channel switches to ads, Matt flips it over to NESN.

On screen the narrator says, “On May 13, 1980, Fred Lynn hit for the cycle in a game against the Minnesota Twins at Fenway Park. By this time, Lynn had already cemented his place in the city as Boston’s golden boy, but in the next season he would leave to play for the California Angels.”

“Remember when we used to call you that?” Matt asks.

“What?”

“Golden Boy. Back in college, remember?”

“Yeah, I fucking hated it,” Charlie says, memories flooding back.

Matt makes a noise of surprise, but doesn’t say anything else or ask why. Charlie kind of wishes he would ask. And Charlie could tell him all about what Matt already knew, what Matt had had to explain to him in the first place.

.

_The team had taken to calling Charlie “Golden Boy”, and Charlie didn’t like it, exactly, but he didn’t mind most of the time. The way Andy is saying it now though, it sounds more like a slur._

_“Golden boy, golden boy, too good to drink with all of us after a loss,” Andy says, a sneer on his face from where he’s sitting on the couch._

_“Andy, shut up,” Matt says, and Charlie recognizes his captain tone, never heard off the ice or outside the locker room._

_“Sorry Gryz, I’ll lay off your little fanboy,” Andy snorts._

_Matt gives him a glare, gets up from where he’s sitting and nods for Charlie to go with him. Charlie follows behind as they walk out into the chilly air, reaching for the zipper on his jacket to protect him from some of it._

_They walk for a minute before Matt says anything, “They’re just jealous, you know?”_

_Charlie mumbles back, “I dunno why. He plays second line and I play third, it’s not like he’s losing out time to me.”_

_Matt looks over at Charlie, “It’s not- they’re not jealous of your spot, Chuck. They’re jealous of your talent. Andy, Gage, John, all of those guys, they all know the only reason they’re on a higher line is because they’re seniors. For some of them, it ends here. If they’re lucky, they’ll get a few years in the AHL. Everyone knows you’re going to be in the show in a couple years.”_

_“You don’t know that,” Charlie protests._

_“Charlie, you’re the best player I’ve ever been on the ice with here. And I’m not just saying that. I wouldn’t. You- you’re going to go on to have the kind of career most guys only dream about.”_

_And Charlie disagrees, but he wants to know, has to know, “Are you jealous too then?”_

_Matt lets out a soft laugh like that, impossibly gentle, “No way. I’m rooting for you, Charlie, all the way.”_

_Charlie wants to kiss Matt, wants to grab him and pull him in for a kiss like they’re in one of those movies his sister watches. He wants to tell him he likes him, that he thinks he’s an amazing player, that he isn’t sure he’s ever met someone so funny and nice, and he wants to be with Matt in any way Matt will let him. He wants to tell him that he doesn’t care if he wins the James Norris a dozen times, he just wants to play hockey and kiss Matt._

_But it’s not a movie, so he says, “I’m rooting for you too, Matt.”_

_Matt doesn’t respond to that, and the chilly January air settles into Charlie’s bones until they’re back at Charlie’s dorm, and Matt is leaving with a soft see you at practice. Charlie goes to his room and looks at himself in the mirror- looks at his cheeks, his hair, looks for the Golden Boy or the talent that Matt says is in there._

_._

It’s easy for Charlie to get comfortable in Matt’s apartment. There’s always a space for him on the couch, and they split their meals between Matt cooking and them ordering food, and Millie is basically only a daddy’s girl, but Buyck is always happy to shower Charlie with affection.

There are times when Matt is cooking dinner or freshly showered or watching tv or breathing that Charlie gets the urge to kiss him, but he’s been pushing down that urge for years now, is just as familiar with the self-denial as he is with the want at all. But this is the most he’s ever gotten, the most he’s ever been allowed, and he’s near drunk with it, on the feeling of being allowed to fit himself so seamlessly into Matt’s life.

Matt has to go back to the physical therapist after five days, but this time he drives himself. Charlie spends the hour and a half Matt’s gone flipping channels on the television, unable to focus on anything long enough to make him want to watch it. The dogs know Matt is home before Charlie does, racing to the door to greet him.

Charlie fights the urge to meet Matt as the door as well, staying on the couch and looking back at him, “What’s the news?”

Matt’s answering smile is enough to tell him it’s good, “I’m completely cleared for light exercise, and I can stop taking the painkillers except as needed.”

Charlie lets out a whoop, and Matt gets down on the ground to pet the dogs.

Charlie can hear Matt babbling to them in his silly dog voice, “You hear that guys? I can start taking you for walks again!”

Charlie pops like a balloon.

This arrangement, precarious as it is already, was predicated on the grounds that Charlie was providing a useful service to Matt- walking his dogs. Otherwise, he’s just staying over and eating his food.

Matt looks back over at him, “Everything alright, Chuck?”

Charlie does his best to soothe his expression back into something positive, “Yeah, for sure, just wondering if you were going to be able to keep up with them after you’ve been lazing around.”

Matt rolls his eyes, smiles, “C’mon, let’s find out. Just a quick walk around the block, okay?”

Charlie’s heart seizes, expanding and collapsing in on itself in record time, and he helps Buyck get his collar on. Matt looks seconds away from skipping the entire walk, his whole face bright and sunny, the Boston weather finally coming out of its winter slump to match. The dogs take happily to their surprise afternoon walk, and Matt even has them stop at the Italian place on the corner to get pasta to have later for dinner. Charlie bites his lip when Matt orders enough for two, tries not to get his hopes up for anything less than a guarantee.

Which is stupid, honestly, because he’d never had one in the first place. Matt had never asked him to stay and probably wouldn’t ever. It was about how far Charlie was going to allow himself to push Matt’s hospitality. And he pushes it right through dinner and an episode of Game of Thrones and borrowing his soap in the shower and going to sleep in the guest room bed.

.

A few days later is Friday, and Charlie is eating cereal in front of the television when Matt says, “I want to go out tonight. Let’s go out.”

Matt wasn’t a huge partier. Going out meant going to a local sports bar, meant having a few beers and shooting the shit and sitting in the corner booth pretending they didn’t notice people recognizing them.

Charlie wants to stay in Matt’s apartment, wants to eat Matt’s cooking and watch tv on the couch until they go to sleep (and deeper than that he wants them to be going to sleep in the same bed, but that’s a stupid thing to want).

“Yeah, sure,” Charlie says.

Matt beams, “Great,” then adds, “I’m going to hit up some of the BU guys, see if they want to go, it’ll be like old times.”

Charlie nods, not saying anything. Old times for Matt meant being called Cappy and being surrounded by his friends who adored him. Old times for Charlie meant feeling out of place and lovesick and the unease that had settled into his bones after a few too many jokes went too far.

But after they eat dinner together, rice bowls that Matt had made, he goes to his duffel bag, never fully unpacked, and grabs out a pair of jeans and a not as threadbare t-shirt to wear to the bar. It’s walking distance from Matt’s house, not even a few blocks, and Charlie reflects on how few times he’d been out without a dog attached to him lately.

Gage is the only one there when they get to the bar, and he gets up from the booth he’s in to give them each a pat hug.

Gage shoots them both a big smile, “Congrats on the great season, guys. I caught almost all of the games, you were fucking fantastic. Can’t wait to see what you guys do next year with a few less injuries, hopefully.”

Matt smiles, “Thanks, man. Have you been catching the Sox lately?”

And then they’re knee deep in a conversation about the perfection of Mookie Betts. Charlie can’t contribute, exactly, but it’s a conversation he feels comfortable with at least. More guys show up, all guys from Matt’s year, and Charlie wonders if they have some kind of still-active group chat that Matt texted. Charlie doesn’t really keep in touch with most of the guys from his year at BU anymore, a couple congrats texts sent either way a few times a year, but Matt had had four years to bond with these guys.

Andy shows up, way after everyone else, and Charlie can feel a knot twist in his stomach.

Matt greets him, “Andy, dude, I didn’t think you were going to be able to make it.”

Andy smiles, but it’s all teeth, serving more to make him look aggressive than happy, “What and miss a chance to hang out with our two Bruins boys? Never,” and he turns his attention to Charlie at that, “Hey there Golden Boy, still hanging around on Matt then?”

Charlie swallows, laughs like he thinks it’s funny, and pushes his way out of the booth to get another beer. He didn’t realize Gage had slipped out behind him until he feels a hand on his arm, and he startles.

Gage apologizes, “Hey, sorry didn’t mean to freak you out. I just wanted to say that Andy has always been an asshole. Hasn’t changed a bit since college, and if it wasn’t for get togethers like this, I’d not spend a single minute with that guy.”

Charlie doesn’t know what to do with the tears that are suddenly pushing insistently behind his eyes, unsure if they’re due to Andy’s comment or Gage’s apology, “Yeah well, I’ve always been kind of obvious about Matt.”

“Matt’s been obvious too, so it’s only fair,” Gage replies.

Charlie’s head spins, trying to figure out what Gage means, but the bartender is asking them what they’ll be having and Charlie just repeats whatever ale on tap Gage orders.

“What are you up to now, then?” Charlie asks.

“I’ve got a job at an advertising firm now. It’s great- good hours, good pay, and nice coworkers. And I’m getting married next month. Which is fucking amazing, honestly. The wedding is just for family, but the reception’s going to be huge, you should come. Here, I’ll send you a pic of the invite right now.”

Gage pulls out his phone and taps and Charlie’s phone pings, “Thanks, man, that sounds great. Congrats.”

Gage beams, “It’ll be good for Matt to have a date to one of these for once.”

Charlie almost chokes on his beer, “We’re not together.”

Gage gives Charlie a considering look, “I know that. But I mean, it’s about time isn’t it?”

And Charlie would protest, but they’ve found themselves back at the booth, and Charlie really doesn’t want to explain to Gage in front of everyone why confessing his feelings to Matt would only end in heartbreak, that he’s thought about it enough times to know where that road ends.

The Red Sox and Celtics can only be topics of conversation for so long, and the conversation drifts to retelling old memories. It’s lively- guys interrupting each other to give _their_ version of events or protest against what they felt like was an unnecessarily detailed description. Most of the stories, Charlie hasn’t even heard before- stories from their freshman year when they’d convinced Ernie to streak when it was negative degrees outside, or paid two girls to flirt with Harry so that he thought he was going to have a threesome, only for him to get back to his place with the whole team waiting there.

Charlie is relaxed again, enough beer in his system to make everything softer around the edges, and the guys are being nicer to him than they ever were in college. He thinks about what it must have felt like, staring down the barrel of the end of your playing career, how it might bring out the worst in who were otherwise good people.

Then a story is ending, and Andy is saying, “Well we can’t forget about the time we spent an entire season placing bets on our Golden Boy here.”

Charlie can feel Matt tense up beside him, hears him say a warning, “Andy.”

“Jesus, Gryzzy, still trying to protect him from everything. He’s making millions playing in the NHL now, pretty sure he can handle a bit of teasing among friends.”

Andy isn’t, has never been, Charlie’s friend, and Charlie knows he should leave. He could be out of the booth and out of the bar and walking back to Matt’s apartment in a minute. He doesn’t have a key, but he could sit and wait. Or he could get into his car and go home like he probably should have for the last two weeks. He freezes, chokes.

Andy continues, “Yeah, Golden Boy, didn’t Gryzzy ever tell you about that? He’s had years to now, I’m sure he has. Of course, he refused to put any money in, not captainly or whatever.”

Charlie can’t see Matt’s face, doesn’t want to look over, but he sees the way his grip has tightened around his beer, “Andy, shut up.”

Andy laughs, “But it was a bummer, ‘cause no one even got any money in the end. We were all wrong, I guess. Thought you’d break down and beg for Matt to fuck you, but you were too much of a coward to ask for what you wanted I’d guess.”

The table is silent, and Charlie feels eyes on him, feels the warmth in his cheeks, feels the stinging behind his eyes, he feels it all and he begs his muscles to move and take him away, but he’s stuckstuckstuck.

“I told Matt that all he had to do was ask. You would’ve gotten on your knees for him in a second if he’d asked, we all knew it,” Andy pauses, takes a drink of beer, clearly enjoying being the star of the show, “I bet you still would.”

And Matt is still unmoving beside him, but Gage says, “Andy shut the fuck up, you drunk asshole,” and Gage is pushing Charlie out of the booth, guiding him out of the bar and into the street.

“Charlie, it wasn’t like that, Andy was exaggerating,” Gage tells him.

Charlie can feel the moisture on his cheeks, hates it, hates himself for putting it there, hates himself for going to the bar at all, hates himself for being such a fucking idiot for _years,_ apparently, “Yeah, what was it like then? What the fuck was it like?”

Gage answers him quietly, softly, “There was no real bet. It was just, I dunno, an inside joke between the seniors.”

“Well as long as there wasn’t any money involved,” Charlie says, sarcastic but also choked.

“Matt always told them to cut it out,” Gage adds like that would make it better.

And then Matt’s there, hand on Charlie’s shoulder, saying, “Charlie, I’m sorry, I didn’t think he was going to show up, and I really didn’t think he would act like that.”

Charlie almost spits, “Act like what? Like he has as long as he’s known me? Jesus fuck, Matt.”

Matt looks desperate, pleading, “Please, Charlie, I’m so sorry. Let’s just go home.”

“That’s just the thing, though, Matt. We don’t live together. We don’t have a _home._ I’ve just been taking up space in your life, and it has to fucking stop.”

Matt doesn’t say anything. Charlie isn’t surprised because the only thing that Matt could say would be to ask him to stay, and he was never going to do that.

They walk back to Matt’s place in silence, and for once, Charlie hates everything he sees on the way back. The streets look old and rotten, and the people all look mean. Matt unlocks the door, and Charlie steps over Millie and Buyck to go to the guest room, gathers his stuff in less than a minute. Matt is standing by the door when Charlie comes out, and he looks like he wants to say something, but Charlie has waited years now for Matt to say something.

And just like the world, and just like the season- Charlie walks out of Matt’s apartment gently shutting the door behind him- not with a bang, but with a whimper.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter heavily inspired by the song Welcome Home by Radical Face, and honestly this fic probably wouldn't have been finished without that song, so I highly recommend you listen to it!
> 
> I didn't proofread this so sorry for any grammar errors! Hopefully it doesn't disappoint too much.

Charlie’s apartment has always been quiet, but his thoughts have never been quite so loud.

.

_ Charlie stays late after practice one day. He asked Coach first, and Coach had given him a wary look, but had said that as long as he didn’t do anything strenuous or stupid, he could stay on the ice for as long as he wanted. Normally, all the guys were gone from the locker room within a half hour, but Charlie loses track of time skating easy circles out on the ice, looping around with a puck on his stick more for comfort than for practice. _

_ “Chuck? What are you still doing here?”  _

_ Charlie doesn’t have to turn to recognize it’s Matt, but he does anyways, is greeted by Matt in a pair of loose sweats and a BU hockey t-shirt. Charlie wonders what Matt is going to do now, the cold weather outside giving him images of curling up in a blanket.  _

_ “Was just skating a bit, clearing my head,” Charlie adds, skating off the ice to meet Matt by the bench. _

_ Matt gives him a soft smile, “Get it all clear then? _

_ Charlie’s heart still stutters at Matt’s smile, so the answer is no, he supposes, “Good enough for now. Why are you here so late?” _

_ Charlie pulls off his skates as Matt answers, “Was seeing the trainer about my knee. Nothing bad, just felt a little off during practice. He gave me a couple stretches to add to my routine that should help, so.” _

_ They head into the locker room together, Charlie carrying his skates in one hand, and Matt plays on his phone while Charlie hops in the shower. Charlie doesn’t ask Matt why he’s staying, and Matt doesn’t offer an answer, but Charlie tries to wash as quickly as possible, just in case he’s keeping Matt waiting.  _

_ Matt’s still sitting there when he’s done, and Charlie pulls on his clothes, goes to sit by Matt. _

_ Matt smiles at him again, but then a flicker of something sour crosses his expression, “Hey Chuck, actually, I kinda wanted to talk to you about something.” _

_ “Yeah?” Charlie asks, scanning his mind for if he’d done particularly egregious in practice, but coming up short.  _

_ “It’s just,” Matt shifts uncomfortably, “I know that people haven’t been acting any better to you since the last time we talked.” _

_ Charlie remembers Matt walking him to his dorm, remembers the way Matt had looked saying, ‘I’m rooting for you,’ earnest and sure, and it’s enough to make his cheeks warm.  _

_ Matt looks like he’s expecting Charlie to say something, but Charlie’s not exactly sure what there is to say- no they hadn’t been any nicer to him, “It’s not a big deal, ‘m fine.” _

_ “You don’t deserve it, Charlie, any of it. I swear they’re good guys, really.” _

_ Charlie nods, “Yeah, I know. It’s me, not them.” _

_ “That’s not what I meant,” Matt says. _

_ That doesn’t make it any less true. _

.

Charlie hates crying. He hates the way his head aches afterwards, how his eyes get sore, hates how it makes him feel out of control of his own body, hates every part of it. But the silence when he finally stops is worse somehow.

.

_ There’s nothing better than winning. Charlie’s known that since always, just like everyone has he supposes, but fuck it feels good. And when they win, everyone’s friendlier, happier, less mad at him for being around. Matt finds him at center ice, beaming, smiling, the only person on the team who ever goes out of his way to find Charlie to celebrate.  _

_ But Charlie can’t even think about the other guys when he has Matt’s full attention on him like this. It’s a lot, too much almost- the intensity in his eyes, high off a good game, and he grabs Charlie to pull him in for a quick hug before turning them to greet the student section who cheer raucously.  _

_ Charlie says, screams, “I want to win with you forever.” _

_ Matt hears him, Charlie knows he does because his eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t say anything, just grabs Charlie’s arm that much tighter.  _

_ In the locker room, Coach talks, but they’d played well, so it’s short, and Matt gets up to say something too. _

_ “I love this team,” Matt says, “I love this team more than anything.” _

_ And Charlie doesn’t love this team, couldn’t love something he didn’t belong to, but fuck- he might be a little in love with the way Matt finds him on the ice after a win, and that is close enough for now. _

.

He wakes up in the morning, eyes still raw, and his first thought is about getting up to take the dogs for their walk before he realizes what bed he’s in. 

.

  
  


_ Charlie and a few of the other guys go to see one of Matt’s games in Providence. Isaac drives a minivan which they normally roast him for, but they load it up with people to drive there together. It’s mostly seniors because they had three years with the guy, but no one had blinked an eye when Charlie said he wanted to go. And it wasn’t that Charlie had great friends on the team all of a sudden this year, but he spent less time in the locker room trying to crawl out of his own skin. He had less of a feeling that he was being invited along someplace in order to be the punchline of all their jokes. _

_ Plus, everyone knew that once the college season ended, Charlie was going to be headed to Providence to play. Which Charlie was really fucking excited about, actually. He was so close to something he’d dreamed about for so long, something he’d sacrificed so much for, and it was almost hard to believe.  _

_ Seeing the P-Bruins play is amazing. It’s just that bit tougher than college, the guys just that much more talented, and they’re hungrier for it too. Charlie wants to be out on the ice so bad, he can practically taste it, spends the whole game leaned forward in his seat. And Charlie’s seen the roster, knows Matt is the shortest defenseman they have, knows he’s fighting extra hard to prove his capability, and when Matt’s on the ice, Charlie can’t look away. He’s seen Matt play before, obviously, but never like this, never when he could just sit back and watch from way back in the stands like a fan.  _

_ They win, and as Charlie watches Matt skate around to hug his teammates, he feels that gnawing desire to be out on the ice with Matt again. He wants to see his post-win smile and pull him in after a victory lap. He wants to shout compliments at him over the roar of the crowd. He wants the way he’s always wanted with Matt; completely and absolutely, with all of his being. _

_ Matt finds them after the game, but it’s not the same- he’s showered and clean, and while still clearly happy, the post-game mania has worn off. Charlie’s still pretty endeared by the way his wet hair flops against his forehead. The other guys swarm around him, but Charlie hangs back, feeling out of place suddenly- he and Matt only played together for a year. And they’d exchanged a few texts, but Charlie almost always instigated them, and it was never a conversation- just pieces of one that never actually resolved. Maybe coming had been a mistake, maybe his spot in the van could have been used for someone Matt would actually want there.  _

_ He’s half tempted to just walk out of the arena and wait by the van, but right as he’s debating the idea Matt looks up and catches his eye. _

_ “Chuck! I didn’t know you were coming,” Matt says, all smiles, pushing his way until he’s standing by Charlie and slinging an arm around his shoulders. _

_ “Wouldn’t miss it,” Charlie mumbles, “You played amazing.” _

_ Matt has a twinkle in his eye, “You think so?” before he turns to face the group as a whole, arm still around Charlie, “What’s the move here? You guys gotta head right back, or do you have some time to hit a bar?” _

_ The guys are all nodding their agreements, but Charlie’s a bit frozen in place from the weight of Matt’s arm. He’d missed this- missed Matt, but almost just as much he’d missed the way Matt made him feel like he belonged.  _

.

Charlie goes to the dog shelter, but none of the dogs are quite right. They’re too big or too small or too quiet, and he can’t imagine taking a single one on a walk. He donates some money to the shelter because he feels guilty, but he can’t bring himself to take any of the dogs home.

He buys a plant instead, one that has to be watered everyday because he likes taking care of something. He gets back on his exercise routine and starts watching youtube videos to learn how to cook because he figures it’s about time he starts taking care of himself too.

And if every morning and every night he goes for a short walk around Boston because he’s used to it now, it’s simply a matter of habit. And if sometimes on those walks, he finds himself walking faster and faster until he’s running, it’s just because he’s still trying to catch up.

.

_ Matt says he has a favorite bar in Providence, so that’s where they head. Charlie doesn’t like to drink when they’re at bars, doesn’t care how much the team promises he’ll be okay or how much Andy had teased him about it last year, it makes him too nervous. So he’s nursing a water, and Matt is sitting right next to Charlie, and Charlie isn’t really contributing to the conversation, but it’s still like the happiest he’s felt in months.  _

_ When it hits 11, they start the journey back to where they’re parked down the street, and Charlie finds himself ambling down the sidewalk with Matt. _

_ “I really thought you were awesome,” Charlie says because he isn’t sure what else to say. _

_ Matt turns, catches his eye, and Charlie’s heart sinks as the smile slips off of Matt’s face, "Don’t look at me like that.” _

_ “Like what?” _

_ “Like- never mind, it’s stupid,” Matt says, “It’s just- I’m not that great really, yeah? You’ll be here in a few months, and you’re going to be way better than I am.” _

_ Charlie shrugs, noncommittal, “It’ll be nice to play with you again.” _

_ Matt nods, “Yeah as teammates, equals.” _

_ “Sure.” _

_ They’re at the van now, and Matt is pulling him in for a quick bro hug, “See you soon Chuck, equals remember?” _

_ “Sure, equals,” Charlie agrees because it seems important to Matt. _

_ Matt’s smile does come back, but Charlie isn’t sure if it’s because of his agreement or because the other guys are all giving him goodbye hugs too. Charlie doesn’t care much; he’s just happy to see it.  _

.

One week into his self-imposed exile, he calls his mom, and she asks how he’s doing. And it’s not like he can lie to his mom, but he can sugar coat it at least, so he tells her he’s bored. 

“I know you love Boston,” she says, “but why don’t you come home for a little while? We’ve missed you. And all your friends should be headed home from school about now.”

Charlie’s seen enough tweets about how much finals suck to know his mom is right, the guys should be back in town soon. He thinks about the beach, his mom’s cooking, thinks about the last time he was somewhere that felt like home then pushes that thought away because home is a feeling that has to be reciprocated. 

He loads up his car with the plant in the passenger seat and leaves Boston behind, sparing only a handful of glances in the rear view mirror.

.

His sister forces him out to the beach his first day back, and she pushes him down in the water as soon as he lets his guard down. The ocean waves lapping at his legs throw off his balance enough that he tips over easily. The ocean water fills his nose and his lungs, and he chokes for a moment, but when he gets his head in fresh air again, he feels more awake than he has in weeks. 

.

There’s a feeling of hesitation for a moment when Charlie’s friends all get together again (at Dave’s house because it’s always been Dave’s house since they were thirteen). Charlie’s stomach churns because he’s not quite sure if maybe he’s lost these friendships since they’ve last been together. Then Nick manages to trip over his feet walking to sit on the couch, and in the ensuing laughter they seem to forget that it’s been any time at all since the last time. They drink beer (legally for the first time, someone notes) and talk shit about the people who they used to go to school with and catch up. 

The other guys all have part time jobs or internships for the summer so they’re busier than he is, but he has plans to go to the beach the next day with Cole before he leaves and the rest of the week fills itself in naturally too. 

And then there’s a new routine- wake up in the morning, water his plant, eat breakfast with his mom, hit the gym and by afternoon he’s got plans to see a movie or go jet-skiing or just hang out at someone’s house and watch a baseball game. He roots for the Red Sox mostly to piss off his friends, but as much as they fight about it, he hardly ever feels like he’s intruding, like they don’t want him around. 

.

It’s not the first time someone’s asked, but it’s the first time someone’s insisted and not let him off the hook about it.

“No, seriously Chuck, you’ve got to have someone back in Boston. I mean, you’re a pro-athlete. There’s got to be people lined out the door wanting to date you.”

Charlie shrugs, “It’s not really fun to date someone who knows your whole life story before they’ve even met you.”

His friends nod like they understand, but they don’t really because as much as they have in common, at age 18 Charlie had signed up for a very different life than they had, and this was a consequence. 

They’re all sitting around the bonfire, so Charlie steps away for a moment to where he can put his feet in the water because he needs a second to breathe. 

“So who is he?” Nick asks, and Charlie would be startled if Nick hadn’t almost tipped over in the sand while walking over. 

“Who is who?”

Nick punches his arm, gently, “The guy you’re head over heels for. C’mon man, we were best friends for 7 years. You think I don’t know when you’ve got a crush?”

Charlie shrugs, “Guess I just don’t like being so easy to read.”

“It’s not a bad thing. It’s just you, Chuck. So tell me about him.”

Charlie groans, rubs his hand over his face and decides on honesty, “It’s Matt.”

Nick raises his eyebrows, “Matt as in Matt Grzelcyk?”

Charlie nods but doesn’t meet Nick’s eyes, looking out at the ocean instead. Nick lets out a low, sympathetic whistle, and Charlie feels just a bit of his apprehension melt away. Because Nick was still Nick- not quite knowing what to say, but always knowing when something was wrong, and Charlie missed being around people that made it so clear they cared. He had it with the Bruins, and though he’d thought he had it with Matt for the beginning of the summer until that rug had been swiftly pulled from under him- but he had it with Nick and all the rest of the guys scattered around the bonfire, and that meant something.

Nick asks, “Have you told him how you feel?”

Charlie lets out a dry, humorless laugh, “Oh trust me, he knows.”

“He doesn’t feel the same way?”

“No, of course he doesn’t. I’m pretty sure he still sees me as that dumb little freshman who no one liked.”

Nick rolls his eyes, “Just because those assholes on the team didn’t like you doesn’t mean no one did. I happened to be especially fond of dumb little 18 year old Charlie, and I wasn’t the only one.”

And okay, maybe Nick had gotten better at the knowing what to say thing in the past couple years.

Nick continues, “I don’t know him, obviously, but I know you. You always seem to give people the benefit of the doubt except when it comes to how they feel about you, and then you always assume the worst. And BU made it worse, but you’ve always been that way, ya know? It’s like you walk around waiting for people to not like you. And maybe Matt doesn’t, but maybe he does.”

Charlie feels choked up, “But he knew. He knew I liked him, and he didn’t say anything, and he let all his friends make fun of me about it too.”

Nick shifts beside him, surprised “Clearly there’s a story here, and I’ll listen if you want me to, but am I really the person you want to be talking to about this?”

Charlie lets out a deep breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, “Yeah, actually, you are.”

Nick nods once, sits in the sand where just his feet are being lapped at by the gentle tide, says “Okay then. Tell me about it.”

.

Talking to Nick doesn’t fix everything. It doesn’t stop Charlie from waking up sometimes and feeling like he’s in the wrong bed in the wrong city, doesn’t stop him from skipping a breath when he sees a dog that looks exactly like Millie walking down the street, doesn’t make him not in love with a guy that doesn’t feel the same way. 

But it helps some of the other stuff. Nick takes the time to remind Charlie how happy he is to have him around for the summer, and he reminds him to text Jake and Pasta to check in on them, and it’s like someone tugged at the end of the string of the knot in Charlie’s chest and it’s starting to unravel. 

And when it all gets to be too much anyways, Charlie goes to the ocean and wades in until the waves are strong enough to knock him off balance. Underwater, the thoughts clear themselves away until they’re all the way gone.

Plus, his plant has started to flower- a little red bud that feels like a pat on the back. Charlie is a capable adult who can take care of a plant and find a place where he’s wanted.

.

Gage shoots him a text on a Tuesday morning, “Hey, don’t forget my wedding reception is Saturday.”

Charlie debates replying for a minute, but then remembers the way Gage had pulled him out of the bar, figures he owes him that much at least, “Thanks man, but I don’t think I’m gonna make it.”

His phone rings a moment later, and Charlie answers, tells himself it’s not just because it breaks the silence.

“Did you know that Matt came back to the bar that night?” Gage says as soon as the tone picks up.

“No.”

Gage continues, fast, forceful, “He came back and grabbed Andy out of the booth so hard I thought he was going to kill him. It took two of us to pull him off before he could do something stupid.”

Charlie doesn’t know if he’s supposed to be grateful to Matt for defending his honor long after it’d been wrecked, “Okay?”

“But that’s not the important part. I’ve known Matt for years. We went through a lot together- hard games, hard losses. And I’ve never seen him cry before. Ever. Not on senior night, not during our last game, not after a single loss ever. But when John and I were trying to get him in an Uber home, he lost it. Said he didn’t want to go home if you weren’t there.”

Charlie stops breathing.

Gage lets out a laugh, but it sounds half hollow, “So man, I don’t know what has taken you guys three years to figure something out, but if it takes my wedding reception to get you two to talk about something for once, well I’m willing to offer it up.”

Charlie swallows, “I’ll uh, think about it.”

“Yeah well, I hope I see you there.”

.

Charlie tells Nick about the wedding, and Nick insists he goes. So he heads out early on Saturday morning, and packs a go bag with enough stuff to spend the night at his apartment after. When he gets into his apartment, it still doesn’t feel quite like his at all. 

The wedding reception is a half hour outside of the city, so Charlie should leave at 4 if he wants to get there on time. At 3:00 he turns on an episode of Law & Order, and he tries to get lost in it. If he could just focus on the show enough to forget about the time, he would have an excuse. He can barely even pay enough attention to remember what crime was committed on the fourth episode. He keeps looking at the time on his phone. He doesn’t know if he wants it to go backwards to where he could still go to the reception or fast forward to a time where he doesn’t have to think about it anymore.

His stomach growls, so he orders the spaghetti he’d missed from his favorite local place and considers flipping the channel to ESPN while he waits, but that would ruin the already shaky distracted excuse he has going for him.

Nick has been texting him an increasingly high number, so Charlie is only marginally surprised when he gets a phone call from him.    
  
He waits for it to ring five times until he answers, “Hey man, what’s up? Sorry I had to find a quiet place to answer.”

“Oh fuck off, I know you’re at your apartment. Your snapchat map is fucking on.”

“I just didn’t feel like going,” Charlie says, making a mental note to figure out how to turn that off later.

Nick makes a frustrated noise, “You know I’m on your side always, but this is ridiculous. A lot of this mess is Matt’s fault, but if you can’t get it together enough to talk to the guy then you have to take part of the blame too.”

Charlie doesn’t know what to say to that, but the doorbell rings with his Uber eats, so he tells Nick he has to leave and goes to get his pasta. 

Only when he opens the door, Matt’s standing there.

“Hey Chuck,” he says, offering a small, forced smile, and Charlie hesitates. 

Matt looks unfairly good, gray dress pants and a light blue button up, and Charlie wants to kiss him or hit him maybe, wants to pull him in tight or slam the door in his face.

He holds his position, decides not to decide yet, “Hey.”

“I was hoping we could talk,” Matt says. 

Charlie can’t help it, he laughs, and it sounds bitter even to his own ears, nasty in a way that he almost never could be, but knew intimately from being on the receiving end, “You wanna talk? You wanna be honest with me? Really? First time for everything, I guess.”

“That’s not fair,” Matt protests, “I was trying to protect you.”

“Well I don’t need protecting anymore, Matt. I’m not that same scared little freshman everyone hates anymore.”

Matt looks like he wants to respond to that, but they’re both distracted by someone clearing their throat.

It’s a 30-some year old woman, holding a takeout bag and wearing an uncomfortable expression, “I’m uh, Janet? I have your pasta you ordered.” 

Charlie grimaces, gets the pasta, debates on whether to tell her thank you or sorry, goes for both, and then goes into his apartment. He leaves the door open behind him, and he hears it shut as he’s setting his food on the counter. 

“What do you want to say?” Charlie asks, fully aware that he has just as much he needs to get off his chest.

Matt’s expression shifts into something sadder but he complies, “Gage told me he invited you to the wedding reception.”

“Yup,” Charlie says, popping the “p”.

“Why didn’t you come?”

“I guess I just didn’t feel like being the butt of a joke anymore. Look, how did you even know I was going to be here?”

Matt shrugs, “Your snapchat map was on.”

Charlie really needs to turn that feature off, “Well, I’ve been following you around for years now, I guess. Tonight was a close thing to continuing the pattern.”

“I’m glad. I like it when you’re with me. I wanted you to stay.”

It’s the first time Matt’s ever said that, and Charlie wills his brain not to melt because they have to have this conversation, have to talk about it more than this.

“If you wanted me to stay, you could have asked.”

“Yeah but, you would have said yes. And I didn’t- I didn’t want you to say yes because I asked.”

“What does that even mean, Matt?”

“You’ve had a crush on me for four years, and you’ve always thought I was better than I am, and I just- I didn’t want you to like me because of some idea you’ve built up in your head. I didn’t think you ever actually liked me seriously.”

“The entire team at BU apparently thought differently. Why would you think that?”

“Because it didn’t make any fucking sense for you to like me- it was, it was hero worship over someone who wasn’t even half as much of a hero as you. You didn’t like me, you liked the captain of the team, a good player, someone you were supposed to look up to. I knew I wasn’t all that you thought I was.”

“You don’t know fucking anything. You weren’t my hero, you were- you were the only one who was ever nice to me. That made me feel like I belonged. And even if it started out as just that, it’s been three years, Matt. I fucking know you. I know you better than almost anyone, so I think I know what I’m getting into.”

If this was a movie, Matt would tug him in for a kiss and during the kiss, every insecurity either of them has ever had would disappear, and they’d live out the rest of their lives behind a black screen of happily ever after. 

It’s not a movie though, so Matt uses his words, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“I don’t want this to be ruined,” Matt says, “I want to figure out a way that we can make it work.”

Charlie pauses for a second- even just two months ago he would have leapt at that chance, but now he takes a second, “Yeah, me too.”

.

For the fourth of July, Charlie takes Matt home to New York to meet his family and friends. Matt has met Charlie’s parents before, but he still almost shakes the entire drive there. Charlie reaches across and settles his hand on Matt’s thigh. Charlie’s mom loves Matt as much as she always has and only shows him half a dozen photo albums. 

The tradition has always been to watch the fireworks on the beach with all his friends. He’s pretty sure Nick gives Matt an intense shovel talk when Charlie goes to get both of them beers because Matt looks a bit paler when he comes back. Charlie grabs his wrist and rubs it with his thumb, smiling at him. It’s- they’re still adjusting, still figuring out how to do this, but Charlie’s good at this part of it- the physical affection. 

He and Matt sit a little further out from all of their friends when it finally hits sundown, Charlie leaning his head against Matt’s chest where they’re sprawled out in the sand. Charlie’s always thought the fireworks display was one of the best around, and this year doesn’t disappoint. In the last minute, there’s enough fireworks to put Disney to shame.

“Not with a whimper, but a bang,” Matt says.

Charlie scrunches up his brow, “That’s backwards,” he says automatically.

“What?” Matt asks.

Charlie pauses, takes a breath, feels 17 for a moment, “This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper. That’s the line.”

Matt arches an eyebrow, “Didn’t know you had a thing for poetry.”

“I don’t. It’s just that line, I guess. I like it.”

Matt murmurs a hm, and doesn’t offer any more of a response than that. The display is over, and around them people are getting up to leave, but they stay lying on the sand.

.

They fight sometimes. Not often, but every once in a while. It’s not raised voices or angry words or cursing, it’s just breaks from each other and offhand comments that end with apologies and long talks. It’s not like Charlie thought it would be hard, exactly, but it’s kind of a surprise how easy it is to get used to just telling Matt when he’s upset. He’d spent years trying and failing to hide his feelings, and it’s kind of addicting when he gets to speak them freely.

Charlie still has his apartment, technically, but he doesn’t even have clothes there anymore. By December he has some of his posters hanging up in Matt’s place, and by then he doesn’t call it Matt’s place anymore, just home.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” Matt says after they beat the Leafs in overtime.

“Let’s go home,” Charlie says when they’re tired both exhausted after a brutal loss to the Penguins.

Gage comes over sometimes, bringing his wife with him, and Nick even came to visit on his fall break from school, and the guys are over all the time basically, and Charlie doesn’t know if he’s ever felt more settled in his own skin.

.

“I looked up that poem you like,” Matt says, one day over breakfast.

“What?” Charlie asks, Millie nipping at his feet for food, looking at the gentle halo the sun casts around Matt as he sits wearing one of Charlie’s shirts, too big and hanging off his collarbone. 

“The one about how the world ends. Not with a bang, but with a whimper, that one.”

Charlie almost can’t believe Matt even remembers their throw away conversation from the fourth of July, but then he could probably name every guy that Matt had played with on his first peewee team, so he finishes his bite of eggs and asks, “Yeah, okay, did you like it?”

Matt shakes his head, “Not really, I guess. I mean kind of. But anyways, I looked it up and what’s funny is the author, he said he like, regretted the ending.”

Charlie’s brain spins, “What do you mean he regretted it?”

“He said something about realizing it wasn’t true, that when the world did end, there wouldn’t be a bang or a whimper, just nothingness.”

Charlie grabs another bite of food, thinks about no bangs, no whimpers, everything a continuation from the moment before, thinks that maybe sometimes things don’t even end at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading to the end, folks! Sorry that it turned into kind of a mess. 
> 
> Thanks to Alex for the beta on this chapter that was basically just him telling me that it was bad bahaha, so I changed everything and now it is hopefully less bad? Anyways, it's DONE at least, so hopefully you liked it!
> 
> Comments and kudos are Always appreciated.


End file.
